Hey Little Girl
by began-to-climb
Summary: Hairspray 2007. Tracy has landed the job of babysitting the neighbors daughter, a fangirl named Isabelle. What begins as a quiet night amongst the girls turns upside down when Link shows up. Trink, Penweed On Hiatus
1. Everything

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Name: Hey Little Girl

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Rating: PG-9

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Summary: Tracy has landed the late-night job of baby-sitting the neighbor's six-year-old daughter, a fan named Isabelle. As the night begins in quiet, an unexpected visitor shows up at the front door, initiating a change of plans.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, except Isabelle. I also don't own any of the lyrics expressed in this piece.

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Authors Note: Some other people asked me to write another Link/Tracy story so I decided to try out another one. This may be different from my other Hairspray story, Alteration, but I hope you like it all the same.

XXXX

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And I can't believe, that I'm your man,  
And I get to kiss you baby just because I can.  
Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through,  
And you know that's what our love can do.

And in this crazy life and through these crazy times  
It's you, it's you, You make me sing.  
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.  
_–Everything, _Michael Bublé

XXXX

"Tracy, do you have everything?" Edna Turnblad set her iron on the board, hooking her hands on her hips, and watched as her daughter scurried about the breakfast room, snatching up neglected schoolbooks and stuffing them in her leather nap sack.

Tracy didn't hear her mother. She rummaged through the stack of disorganized papers scattered on the table, fishing for the history paper that she'd finished the previous night, the same paper that had apparently grown legs and wandered off on its own adventure. As she came to the end of the pile, nails brushing the wood, she grumbled, proceeding into the same rant that she'd made a habit of since she'd woken.

"Tracy." Edna tried again, voice louder, firmer.

"Tracy, answer your mother." Wilbur Turnblad called from the next room, glancing away from the front page of the Baltimore Sun.

"Yes, Ma, I have everything except for my paper." Tracy answered, weaving around the table to the other side of the room. _This cannot be happening, _she ranted frantically. _Today of all days. I'm already late and now this. Why today? _"Have you seen it?"

Edna shook her head, muttering under her breath. It wasn't like Tracy to lose something. Then again, the room was in such a mess with Edna's overwhelming flow of delivered laundry; it'd be a miracle to find anything. "Sorry, sweetheart."

Wilbur folded the paper in his lap and tossed it onto the ottoman, discarding his feet from the relaxing position and standing. He ambled to where his two girls were calling a search party and leaned heavily on the peeling doorframe, stuffing his hands in his pockets, amused with the situation.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

Tracy looked over her shoulder, meeting her father's eyes. "My history paper on the Victorian era. I wrote it yesterday and I swear I left it in my room, but I can't find it."

"I found that this morning. I put it in your bag."

Mother and daughter paused, staring at him simultaneously. Their hands stilled, straightening slowly. In a second the shock was broken and Tracy darted back to the breakfast table where her bag was left open limply. She began to dig through the contents, extracting two textbooks and a folder, greedy for the cleverly titled paper. The prayer ran through her head, starting as a whisper then escalating into an uprooting chant as her desperation grew.

Then, from the black depths of the bag, a sliver of white caught her eye. Biting the inside of her lip, she tore it out quickly, cradling it preciously in her hands. Squealing, she hugged her father joyously, thanking him profusely, the words sputtering from her lips with such haste that she wasn't even sure they were comprehensible.

"Oh my God, I am so late." she stated, renegotiating how everything was going to fit in her bag.

"You won't be late." Wilbur said encouragingly, lightly pushing her to the door. She didn't protest; this morning had been nothing so far but a rat race for the door. She didn't know what she'd do if she were any later.

"Tracy," Edna bellowed just as she was in the hall. The petite girl peered around the corner, one hand braced on the frame, leaning heavily onto her left side, toe digging into the floor. "Don't forget to remind Link that he's having dinner with us tomorrow night."

"I know. He's done nothing, but talk about your fabulous chocolate pie all week." Edna blushed. Tracy rolled her eyes. Only her boyfriend could get her mother to blush like that. Well, him and her father. "I think we spoil him."

"And you're baby-sitting Isabelle tonight."

Tracy grimaced. She'd forgotten that. There went her romantic night out with Link. Farewell dinner and a show. She faked a smile, hoping beyond hope that neither of her parents had seen the look. "Yes, Mother, I remember. Is there anything else?"

"No. Shoo. You're going to miss the bus." Edna cooed, sharply waving a towel at her.

Tracy bid goodbye to her parents, placing a gentle kiss on Wilbur's cheek, then jogged out the door, skipping down the stairs into the morning bustle. She hurriedly set off in the direction of the school bus pick up, breaking in between a clump of women who had convened on the sidewalk and looked unwilling to move. Cars honked their horns as pedestrians crossed the street, words splashing with the racket they were applying, easing forward to the red lights, drumming their fingers on the side of their cars.

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I'm late, I'm late, I am so late, Tracy moaned. It was like everything was going wrong for her. And now she had to take a rain check on the one thing she was actually looking forward to. Link would take it in stride, of course, and probably cause enough trouble to make the most of whatever time they would be granted together, but that didn't settle her soul.

Looking both ways, she crossed the street where the yellow bus had just begun loading, the door creaking open with a whoosh, the gangs of teens patiently boarding the ride. She was the last to get on and the bus lurched forward before she could land a seat. Plopping down in the first seat she came upon, she tossed her bag next to her and dumped her chin in her palm, watching as beautiful Baltimore breezed by.

XXXX

Her school looked the same at ten before the bell as it did a minute before. A sea of students migrated inside, breaking into pageant sprints, binders tucked under their arms. Their amiable chatter blended together, muffling their whispers of the trees, disguising their dread of another day as absolute gaiety. The late September wind pushed them on, lifting the bundles of vibrant leaves off the ground and into the spiraling air.

Tracy sidled past two boys, excusing herself as she cut in front of them, and slowed as she entered, mixing with the flow of the current. Students dispersed in waves, breaking away as they found their lockers or their groups of friends that were stagnant against the line up. She smiled as she went, her eyes subconsciously lingering on the each integrated pack.

Even though the school had been integrated for a long time, it was different now. Before it had been divided without having to be, when the classes did what they were told and taught by their parents, but now it was as if those standards had never applied, had never been born. Things had changed as they had been slated to do; it was long overdue.

Tracy tucked her chin to her chest, smothering a smile, and picked up her pace as she spotted her two friends at her locker. Seaweed Stubbs had Penny Pingleton pined against the locker, trapped under his body as she rolled a red lollipop in and out from between her lips. Both were smiling as they whispered to each other. Tracy shook her head then casually bumped Penny, unwinding the combination on her locker.

Seaweed and Penny looked at her, startled by her sudden presence, but smiled animatedly. "Morning Tracy." Penny bid, the white stick from her candy bobbing with each word.

"Hi." Tracy said, sending the two a look and rolling her eyes. "Have either of you seen Link?"

"Cracker boy?" Seaweed mimicked. He really was never going to grow out of that nickname, not that the recipient cared. His eyes drifted behind Tracy. A following of girls were approaching fast, stalking a boy who was bashfully glancing over his shoulder at them, their faces dreamy, awes cooing from their lips. "Right behind you."

Tracy spun on her heel, skirt flying up an inch, arms flinging out. Her heart did it's routine flip, her stomach somersaulting, breath catching in her throat. She found a beaming Link Larkin standing behind her, black hair slicked back with his trademark curl protruding his forehead, dressed sharply in a dark blue checkered jacket and black shirt.

"Morning." he said, leaning in to kiss her sweetly.

Tracy bit her lip, drawing back and uttering the same word, then kissed him again. She giggled, her hand cupping his cheek, and he smiled against her lips. They broke the kiss, a hair between them, and laughed like the lovesick teenagers they were.

Tracy winced suddenly; Link straightened. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

Link chuckled in relief, bowing his head then cupping her face. "Trace, it's okay."

"But we were supposed to have breakfast." Link drew her into his arms, wrapping his arms around while she pressed her head to his chest. "My stupid alarm didn't go off and then I couldn't find my homework then the bus got caught at an accident—"

She lost the words on her tongue as Link's tongue played on hers, hands cupping her cheek, cutting her off with good intention. When he broke the kiss, Tracy automatically swatted his chest lightly, face contorting, perturbed.

Link laughed, rocking back on his heel and opening his locker. "What? I had to get you to shut up somehow."

"You're trouble, you know that." Tracy growled. Penny giggled behind her, but masked the glitch as an unconvincing cough with Tracy's eyes on her. She turned back to Link. "You…"

Looking to pull himself out of the doghouse, he slipped a paper bag from his locker and handed it to his girlfriend. Tracy studied his mischievous smirk as she took the offering, feigning suspicion, and peaked inside.

She smiled, tilting her head to the side. "You brought me a muffin." Link nodded. _Awe, _she thought. "You didn't have to."

He shrugged. "I wanted to."

She looped her arms around his waist as he encased her to him, the bag thumping against his lower back. "Then we have to share."

He placed a light peck on her lips, pressing their foreheads together. "Deal."

"Hey, I'm supposed to remind you that you're having dinner with my family tomorrow night."

"I know." he teased, leaning in.

"I know you know." She responded, smiling slyly as he kissed her, hands holding onto the lapels of his jacket.

As the kiss grew heated, the reminders of their audience scowling as they watched on, Seaweed broke the moment with a clever, "Get a room." Penny hit his chest, shutting him up. Link stuck his tongue out at his friend.

As she buried her head in Link's chest, relaxing as his fingers traced the shuddering spot on her back, her attention settled on the bands of girls that were crowded around them, eyes flickering to Link. The girls gossiped behind cupped hands, corners of their lips tugged into smiles, checking him up and down. Tracy frowned, hugging him closer to her as if promulgating that she was with him and had been for a while. She listened to his voice, soft and silky as he joked with Seaweed, his hand leaving her skin just long enough to wave at someone soliciting his focus, and took the pause to enjoy just being in his arms.

Yet, as high school flowed around her, she still couldn't stop eyeing each face that lusted after her boyfriend. And he was hers. He had been since the pageant in early June. She was his and he was hers. They'd spent all summer together, getting to know each other outside the show and outside the spotlight. It had been the most comfortable three months of her life. The occasional girl flirted with him, as she knew they would, just as she knew that that was going to intensify once they returned to school.

She had tried to prepare herself for it, for girls throwing themselves at him, for girls interrupting any lunch or conversation they had. And so far they had exceeded her expectations. They were more forceful than she remembered. Thankfully he had taken notice within a few short days and had acted accordingly.

It wasn't that she wanted him to change or behave like an obedient dog. She knew that these girls were chasing him because they only knew his urbane stage persona and wanted the eye-candy. But that didn't settle her nerves. She didn't want to care, not really, because it was silly. It was silly to worry about girls who weren't with him and never were going to be with him.

Because he wanted her and he was doing a damn good job of making that known. To her and to everyone.

XXXX

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A/N: First chapter done. So, what did everyone think? I'd love your opinion. And I won't get hurt if you flame it; I have a thick skin. Please review. There's more to come.


	2. Even Nice Kids are Teens

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Authors Note: Oh my gosh, thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. I was not expecting such a positive reception. I know a lot of the authors say that, but it's true here. I'm always astounded by who ever and how many ever reviews I get so thank you. This chapter is dedicated to everyone who are starting with me.

XXXX

It was a minute to the final bell, her book bag was crushed against her back, students were running down the hall as if they had fire on their heels, and Link wasn't letting her go.

"Link," she breathed, his lips relinquishing hers long enough for barely a breath of honey air. His hand brushed her hair off her shoulder, sliding down to cradle her elbow in his palm, and he leaned down, teeth grazing a sensitive spot as he placed a chastise kiss on her skin.

Tracy giggled, burying her face in the crook of his neck, face spirited with glee. "Link, I really have to go." she said, trying to wrench out of his intoxicating grip.

In response, Link took a small step forward, catching her tighter in his entrapment, his hand more forceful on her hip. "Stay." he whispered in a tone that was all too familiar.

She tilted her head back, closing her eyes to surrender to the feel of his velvet touch on her body. Then he abandoned his conquest and seized her lips once more, kissing her hungrily. She didn't protest, didn't demur in any way, shape, or form. She could still taste the cola he drank at lunch. It tasted good. He tasted good.

As their tongues dueled, fishing for a not-so-private memory, his hands ventured over her curves, causing her forget that they were still at school, standing outside her classroom, that the people in said classroom will probably watching the minor make-out session. All these things that she was subconsciously aware of were hurriedly being silenced by the senses that were surfacing in her physical presence, by the side that rarely got attended to, but when was came in roaring force.

She could feel the heat from the bodies behind her. She could hear the voices and how they melted together. She could feel every move Link's hands made, every place they brushed. She could sense everything around her, but couldn't fully comprehend any of them. She couldn't pinpoint which hand was moving at when. She couldn't distinguish whether her teacher was talking. She couldn't even tell whether the colossal flush she inhabited was from herself or from Link. She opened her eyes, wanting to pluck herself from fantasy as soon as possible so she didn't drown.

Not that drowning in Link Larkin was something she didn't want.

Then she caught sight of a boy no younger than herself speed past their tangled bodies and reality struck back with a bang. The clock above her head tugged her farther, reminding her of her limited time and that it was running out. How she wanted to just be left alone.

She drew back from Link, biting her kiss-swollen lip, and pushed against him. "I really have to go."

Link watched as she stepped away, combing her hands through her hair, moving to slip into the classroom. Pursing his lips, he snatched her hand, yanking her back to him. "You're not getting away that easily." he growled, diving in to kiss her again.

She wanted to roll her eyes and shove herself out of the kiss, wanted to halt his affections since they were in public and almost late for their separate class. But, as usual, the way he married his lips with his very presence sabotaged any chance of derailment. She didn't really care—it wasn't as if they'd never made-out before—but she _needed_ to get to class. And preferably before Mr. Woods, her English teacher, found them in such a compromising position.

Link, however, didn't seem to share the same concerns. He kissed her passionately, fueling her with desire, and nipped at her bottom lip, begging for entrance, which she willing granted. She just…she was so good. When he was her he couldn't contain himself. It was as if something came over him. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so crazy for someone. He realized he hadn't been into Amber really. Not the way he was with Tracy.

Her moan edged him on. Smiling against her lips, he assaulted her mouth, cherishing the taste and the feel. He finally drew apart, gazing down at her, smoldering eyes meeting her own ignition. "I feel dizzy." she muttered.

He nodded. He was feeling a little light-headed himself. "What are you doing to me, darlin?"

Tracy smiled, biting her bottom lip again, hand clasped on the back of his neck. Suddenly, someone cleared their throat, loudly, rudely. Both of them turned their heads and found Mr. Woods peering at them reproachfully through his spectacles, hands tied behind his back. Tracy squeaked low in her throat, Link jumping away from her, both wearing twin chagrined expressions.

"Hi, Mr. Woods." Tracy mumbled, a deep heat rising on her cheeks.

Mr. Woods faked a smile and turned his attention to Link, who was trying to compose himself coolly. "Mr. Larkin, didn't I just see you last hour?"

A rhetorical question. Link shuffled his feet. "I was just dropping Tracy off at your class."

"Yes, the whole school can see that." Mr. Woods said, churning his upper torso. Tracy licked her lips to contain the wide smile. It wasn't funny, but that didn't really matter. "Now, Ms. Turnblad is in good hands. You can leave her with me."

Link glanced from Tracy to Mr. Woods, ignoring the expectant countenance. "Mr. Woods, I'm not late or anything."

As if taking his words as its cue, the bell rang shrilly; the lingering students scattered. Ironic. "Now you are. Get to class, Mr. Larkin. You may run your show, but you do not gallivant at your will here." Mr. Woods said smugly.

Cautiously, one eye on their intruder, Link kissed Tracy's cheek, whispering in her ear that he'd see her for their next and final class. "Go. Don't be late." she shooed, not wanting him to get into any more trouble.

With a last exchange between the two, Link winked then trotted, barreling around the left corner. Soon his hoof beats had resided and Mr. Woods took Tracy's elbow and stuffed her into the respective classroom, closing the door behind her and commencing class while she scrambled for her desk in the back. She pretended not to notice the loitered glances, but saw them all the same.

Settling in, she grinned to herself. Why did all bad things feel good with Link?

XXXX

"Kids!"

The twenty-three Council Members huddled around the private bus, socializing amongst one another in the shade of the oak tree hanging over their heads, cream and fudge mixing in a bowl without complication. They danced on the sidewalks, moving their bodies to inaudible music, shouts of real gone cats pelting from the multiple boys. A few of the more pristine girls, headed by their leader Amber Von Tussle, watched in amusement.

How they ever survived without such fresh and risqué moves was still an enigma. Except, the only reason they were getting away with some of the more daring routines was likely because the mother who knew "best" had ended her rule and others had rattled the cages.

Tracy clapped in unison with the circling crowd as Seaweed's sister, Lil Inez, careened and twisted her body in sync with her partner, shimming and shaking in expert rhythm. Seaweed stood to her left, nudging her amiably, the proudest look gracing his ebony features. Link stood on the other side of her, dancing his slender form in the same number. Tracy watched him out of the corner of her eye; he definitely had changed his cookie-cutter ways since they'd met.

"All right, kids. Time to go." Kenny, the new station manager, shouted, waving his hands furiously to coral the dancers. With a chorus of disappointment, the fun ended and they dragged themselves to form a line at the front steps. "You can dance your hearts out when we get to the studios."

The African-American man patted Seaweed's shoulder as he skipped up in front of Link, the men sharing a knowing smile. Link took Tracy's hand and led her down the narrow aisle, feet falling to the rifts in the sliced floorboard, following Seaweed to their chosen spot towards the back of the bus.

As Tracy held Link's hand with both hands her eyes settled on Amber, peaking over the edge of her outer seat, blonde beehive bobbing as she gabbed, spreading scandalous gossip as only she could. The two girls connected eyes, silencing at the others expense.

"Hi Amber." Tracy pitched first.

Amber nodded politely, lips slanted upward. "Hi Tracy."

Link let her ease past him then plopped down in the empty bench behind Seaweed, three rows in front of Amber and her posse. He and Seaweed, thrust around on his knees, assembled in their daily banter, joking and talking, all the while drawing in the focus of the others boys around them. Tracy listened to them, inserting her cognizant opinion, but her eyes kept glancing towards Amber's skyscraper hair and giddy laugh. She breathed a sigh of relief each time they were civil to one another.

The first few weeks of her and Link's relationship had been plagued by the rumors that Link had either cheated with her, was using her, or she'd stolen him away from Miss Popularity. But as the girl's vendetta died down, as did the rumors and salacious gossip. She and Amber weren't mortal enemies, but they could rarely be counted as friends either. More or less, they were colleagues or acquaintances, ones that put on smiles and spoke warmly of one another for the cameras.

It wasn't treasured, but it was better than hate. Tracy rolled her eyes, pushing whatever friendship or lack of with Amber out of her mind, and turned her attention out the window, craning her eyes away from the bickering bus driver and Kenny as the school's front doors opened.

Her eyebrow arched when Charlotte, a popular and sunny varsity cheerleader, popped out, adorned in her spirited uniform. Her parents escorted her out, nodding to whatever she was saying. Her hands, devoid of any remnants of school, cradled her stomach protectively.

Tracy tapped the shoulder of the girl in front of her. She didn't like partaking in gossip, but there were just certain things that were coded in her DNA that couldn't be helped. Remy whirled around with a flip of her ebony locks. "Do you know what's wrong with Charlotte?" she asked, pointing out the window where the small family had halted for a breather.

Remy beckoned her closer, cupping her hand over her lips. "PG." she whispered simply.

Tracy's eyes widened alarmingly. _No, not Charlotte, _she thought sadly, thanking Remy for the information. The bus doors closed with a clank, the gears shifting unmistakably, and they rolled away from the curb, starting on their way for the WYZT Studio. She slouched in the seat, her hand finding its way to Link, and let her head dangle.

Her head lolled to the left, coming face to face with Link in the same position, relaxed and compatible with his surroundings. Black aviators cloaked his piercing blue eyes. "Nice shades." she commented.

He smiled, lacing his fingers in hers. He lovingly brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckle tenderly, folding it on his chest. She sighed contently and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and falling into a harmonic slumber, nestled by the rise and fall of each breath.

XXXX

Corny Collins stood at his jockey table, snapping and pointing enthusiastically, his charming beam pointed at the two cameras paned on him. He tapped his feet and smoothly transitioned with the Council Members dancing below him, invading the dance floor with an orchestrated symphony. All of teenage Baltimore was watching and they had to be precise.

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Forget about your algebra  
And calculus  
You can always do your homework  
On the morning bus  
Can't tell a verb from a noun  
They're the nicest kids in town

Roll Call!

The teen's feet moved and, in a second, they were lined up in correct order. One by one they dismantled themselves from the order, bopping to their next mark: Lil Inez, Amber, Brad, Tammy, Johnny, Remy, Sketch, Shelley, IQ, Stella, Joey, Mickey, Sandy, Vicki, Becky, Will, Jesse, Darla, Paulie, Noreen, Doreen, Link, Tracy.

"And I'm…" A swift hip rotation. "Seaweed."

The gaggle of girls screamed on cue.

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So, if every night you're shaking  
As you lie in bed

(mony-mony, ooh, mony-mony)

And the bass and drums  
Are pounding in your head  
(mony-mony, ooh, mony-mony)  
Who cares about sleep  
When you can snooze in school?

Corny primped his jacket, straightening his bow tie theatrically, broadcasting a proud smile. As he did so, the dancers merged together, pairing off for the final number. The boys twirled the girls under their arms, the full skirts swooshing by the motion, then dipped them, sleek legs drawing up.

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They'll never get to college  
But they sure look cool  
Don't need a cap and a gown  
'Cause they're the nicest  
Kids in town

They're the nicest. Nicest  
They're the nicest, nicest  
They're the sugar 'n' spiciest,  
The nicest kids in...  
Kids in town!

As Corny belted out the last two lines with his choir, he and the rest of the council rushed to the front of the stage, posing in a cluster, plastering on smiles. Within a second, the red orb on the front camera went off and the crew stepped out from behind their lenses, announcing a two-minute commercial break. The cast disbanded, darting around for last minute hairspray checks.

Seaweed ran off stage to Penny, waiting on the sideline, and Tracy ambled over to Link, who was chatting with Brad, declining a canister of Ultra-Clutch hairspray. She sidled up to her boyfriend, her stout frame fitting his lean figure. He fidgeted nervously, raking his hair and tapping his toe on the floor.

"You don't have to be nervous." she said, looping her arms in his.

Link shook his head, refuting the human emotion that he liked to believe he was immune to. "I'm not nervous." She gave him a look; he never was a good liar. "Okay, I am a little."

"Come here." Cupping his cheek, she kissed him.

"Ten seconds!" Kenny shouted, scurrying around behind the mob of cameras.

Tracy and Link looked at him. "I better get up there."

Tracy nodded. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, receiving one in return. Before she let him go to the stage to begin preparations for his performance, she called his name. He turned around and sauntered back to her, puzzled. Once he was standing right in front of her, she rose onto her tiptoes and brushed her thumb over his lips, wiping away the smudge of her lipstick. She giggled at his embarrassed groan.

"What would I do without you?" he asked, flashing her his signature smile and twinkling eyes.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I just don't know." she quipped. He kissed her forehead.

"Two seconds!" Kenny warned.

Hands braced on his chest, Tracy pushed Link towards the stage. He skipped up on the stage, taking hold of the microphone and switching it from hand to hand, body shifting with it. Tracy spun on her heels, lacing her fingers behind her back, and waited.

The red light revived. The show began again.

XXXX

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A/N: I'm going to start using some sixties slang and there were a couple references in this chapter, including real gone cat which, if you don't know, means someone to dances to the beat of their own drum, so to speak. I hope everyone liked the chapter. I sort of burned out on the end, but I hope you still like it.


	3. Authors Note, Plz Read

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Authors Note:

Okay, so…I hate writing authors notes as separate chapters because it really does mess up the flow of the story. Though I think the flow for this particular story was broken the week after I stopped posting new chapters. Which is exactly what this drop-in is about.

I profusely apologize for not updating in the past, what's it been, three weeks? Or more? I don't know, I can't really remember. At first I wasn't writing because I was too exhausted from Link (not making that up) training that was everyday for a full week, but that was two weeks ago and now…

Honestly, I've written six different chapters, none of which are finished. They're more beginnings that don't feel right than chapters. I've written six different ones, each a new beginning and each going a different way. I could use any one of them, if I had the inspiration to finish them (which I don't actually have). Problem is, none of them feel right.

Maybe it's just because this writers block is making nothing feel right, but they just don't feel like where the story needs to be, though a story can hardly be constituted as a story if it only has two chapters up when it's multiple chapters.

I'm taking tomorrow off to clear my head and give myself a break, because I have been working every day on this new chapter for the past six days and there's nothing coming out. Hopefully this break will work its charm like it has before and I'll come back with new ideas.

That said, I apologize again for the long lapse in between chapters. I will try to work on this story, put it at the top of my list, until school starts again for me on Monday. I'd greatly appreciate it if you dropped me some tips on how to work past writer's block.

Till then, ttfn.


	4. Goodnight and Go

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Authors Note: Guess what? I'm back! Yes, I've been revitalized! Hoping that you will forgive me and give me another shot with this story. I will try to continue updating when school starts. Oh, and, before I forget, I promise I did not mean to make that opening kiss so steamy. I really didn't. It just happened.

So, this chapter. What I want you to do is to picture the craziest and most chaotic Thanksgiving, Christmas or other celebration you've ever been to. The type where there's so much racket and so much going on that you can't even think straight. Where everyone's talking over each other and you can barely understand anything. That's how this chapter goes.

All right, come join my party.

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Leaves front door open where a platter of Zac Efron cookies is visible on the front table and the soundtrack can be heard.

XXXX

Why do you have to be so cute?

It's impossible to ignore you

Why do you make me laugh so hard?

Why do we get along so well?

-_Goodnight and Go, _Imogen Heap

XXXX

Putting teenagers together in a closed space is guaranteed chaos, no sign on the dotted line, no crystal ball for predictions. It's a handheld fact, one that is as top secret as the location of the White House. There are ways to prevent said obscurity and frenzy, but, like any improvised plan, where there's a will there's a way. As the teens mind is likely the most complex and creative enigma known, how a room goes from serenity and compliance to pandemonium and turmoil is the greatest magicians trick of them all. It's a wish on a shooting star to even be heard.

But, when four teenage friends are put in a kitchen to fix a full-blown meal without parental assistance, yelling over each other as music blasts in the background, making it beyond impossible to carry on any descent conversation, the bar rises. With one franticly working, one blistered by the formers barking, and the other two bickering over the most random of confrontations, it definitely is not good.

Seaweed grabbed the wooden spoon from the sidelines, the instrument nearly flinging out of his grabbling hand at the desperation exhibited in the simple task, and plunged it into the shallow pot, swirling the red sauce meekly. "Penny, how does the spaghetti look?" he hollered despite his girlfriend's close proximity.

Penny, tossing a dwindled cherry lollipop into the nearby trash can, glanced into the tall pot, face engulfing in steam. She waved her hand as she withdrew. "They look okay to me." she said, cupping her hand over the side of her mouth to extend the explanation.

"What?" came the response, sounding more as a confused repeat of words than stunned incredulous.

"Fine!" Penny shouted, on the brink of screaming, causing Tracy and Link to momentarily to pause over their bickering to stare curiously at her. She rolled her eyes, returning to her own task of collecting placement settings.

"Link, that's too many tomatoes." Tracy stated, meticulously picking out a select few tomato slices from the green salad bowl. Link, defiant when it came to his food, purposely replaced the same tomatoes back into the bowl just as she rejected them.

"I like tomatoes." he said matter-of-factly.

Tracy rolled her eyes, trying desperately to drown out Seaweed as he shouted at his sister to turn down the music blasting from the living room. It was impossible to think. She could barely hear herself talk. "Well, Inez doesn't."

"She can pick out her own tomatoes."

"Inez, please turn that down." Seaweed bellowed, handing the spoon to Penny and disbanding from his cooking duty to walk to the doorway, hanging himself out.

"Mama said I could have it as loud as I want." Inez said snootily, holding an Elvis record protectively to her body.

"Seaweed." Penny muttered, peering cautiously into the pot, handful of silver utensils clutched painfully in her palm. Her voice went unheard and unacknowledged, much to her dismay and fright.

"Yeah, well, Mama's leaving in an hour and I'm in charge when she's gone." Inez stomped her foot on the floor, purposely turning up the volume to the particular Del Shannon song, pointedly boycotting the man. "And you're going to turn that music down when I say."

"Hour and a half. And so you think." Inez fired back, finishing by sticking her tongue out.

"Link, stop it. We're going to be drowned in tomatoes." Tracy reproached, purposely bumping her boyfriend, though he seemed unfazed as he proceeded to add in more slices.

"Seaweed!" Penny finally shrieked, over Tracy and Link, over the music, over the sibling argument.

"What?" Seaweed replied, spinning on his heel, furious eyes landing on her.

"Your noodles are boiling." she simply explained, stepping away as precaution. A good move, seeing as Seaweed immediately darted back to the stove, throttling the notches and grabbing a pair of mittens from a drawer.

Purple encasing his ebony skin, he hurriedly grabbed the pot by the handles and sped to the sink, dumping it and letting go. "Penny, finish setting the table, please. Tracy, Link, get over the salad." he instructed, eyes roving over the chaotic scene. Why was this night always such an ordeal?

Link, face contorting childishly, silently nagged his friend behind his back, only halted by a sharp elbowing by Tracy. He smiled sweetly at her; she rolled her eyes again. Suddenly, the phone began to ring, adding to the noise, merciless in its quest to be answered. Seaweed, teetering on the fine line of sanity and patience, seesawed with himself over preparing dinner or answering the phone. He was a second away from tearing out what little hair he had.

Just as Penny passed him, place mats draped over her arm, napkins in one hand and utensils in the other, he grabbed her arm, stopping her abruptly in her tracks. "Can you answer the phone, please?"

Knowing better, she nodded and twirled over to the phone, catching it before its fifth ring. He was stressed out enough over cooking for five; the last thing he needed was the added pain of whoever was calling. "Hello…oh, hi, Mrs. Turnblad."

The mere mention of her name made Tracy leap to awareness, peaking around Link, hands stilling. Penny glanced up at her, hand over the receiver, eyes wide as she listened to Tracy's mother drag on and on. "Tracy's right here. One sec…"

She held out the phone, shepherding her best friend to take the phone before she had a heart attack. Tracy snatched the phone, sharing a look with the pigtailed girl, then shooed her off to complete her own task, ignoring Seaweed collecting bowls from cabinets to deposit spaghetti. Link, expertly cradling the large salad bowl in one hand and a smaller, optional bowl of sliced tomatoes on his forearm, exited the room without a word, following hot on Penny's heels.

"Hi, Ma." Tracy greeted, holding the receiver close to her ear, opposite finger clogging any additional sound. "We're just sitting down to dinner…uh-huh…yes…Ma, I'll be home in time—I promise…I know what time I'm supposed to be there…"—She glanced up as a shadow descended upon her. Link appeared hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning heavily on the doorframe, eyeing her conspicuously. She had to turn away to keep her mind focused on the conversation—"six forty-five. I have just over an hour…yes Ma. All right, love you…bye."

Just as she pulled the phone from her ear, about to hang up, Link popped in, straining to reach the phone. "Evening, Mrs. Turnblad. Tracy and I are getting married!"

"Link!" Tracy shrieked, stumbling to hang up. Phone safely returned to its cradle, she spun around, eyes meeting the mischievously smirking face. She swatted his chest, lips scrunched in aggravation. He burst into a fit of laughter. "That was not funny."

"It was a little funny." he refuted, trailing after her as she stomped her way to help Seaweed.

"What if she heard you? She'll have a panic attack."

"Awe." Link, lips tugged into a frown, encircled Tracy, arms winding around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Your mom loves me."

"Not after she hears that, she won't." She paused, handing Seaweed a bowl.

"Trace."

Always the charmer masquerading as the innocent crooner, he tactically slithered his hands down her arms, slowly, taking the full effect of her shivers to his advantage. She shifted, trying to muster the strength to restrain from his entrapment, bracing her hands on the tile counter, but to no avail. Taking the marked opportunity as one brightly blinking, he ventured further, covering her hands with his, the coldness on the pads of his fingers making him crave her body warmth even more.

She cleared her throat, feeling the heat rise again. He smiled to himself, nuzzling her neck, then started to stroke her hands, back and forth, the feeling more sensual since it he was doing the work. She closed her eyes, unwillingly sighing into the intimate contact, leaning against his body. Then, _whap_! Tracy squealing in surprise, Link yelping in pain, hand flying to the back of his head instinctively, the couple broke apart, both pivoting to the culprit.

Link, hand rubbing his hair, glared at Seaweed, who wrung a dishtowel in his hands. "Hey. What was that for?"

"Don't do _that_ with my baby sister around." Seaweed explained through a smile.

With that he tossed the dishtowel to the side. Penny, gleaming with pride, kissed his cheek. His arm slunk around her waist, hugging her close to him. Eyebrow arched, Link took the dishtowel, gently shoving Tracy aside, then smacked Seaweed over the head. His reaction was an exact mirror. Revenge best served cold.

The two glared at each other, feigning anger. "Don't do that to my girlfriends best friend."

Seaweed narrowed his eyes at Link; the other boy just bobbed his shoulder tauntingly. "Dinner's served." Penny announced in hopes of carrying on with the evening.

Both girls each took a bowl, serving themselves whatever condiments they wanted on their dinner, then migrated into the dining room, huddled together in hushed chatter. They laughed, glancing over their shoulders at their boyfriends, then seated themselves across from each other, joining Inez who was already comfortably seated next to Penny. The record player, much to Seaweed's happiness, was turned down to a bare minimum. Quickly enough the boys got to the table, Link beside Tracy and Seaweed at the end.

They each bowed their heads and held hands, abandoning their food in all its slaved glory long enough to utter a swift prayer.

The Thursday night dinner, much like the other traditions that had been formed amongst the small gang, had been created over the summer when, after a long day in the town, they'd been too tuckered out to slip home for dinner. Each week they tried something different, taking their turns in deciding, and each week it was the same madness that they always succumbed to being victims of.

Mostly the ritual was a good one. Penny enjoyed the extra time to be out of her house and away from her psychotic mother, whom she was still doomed to be living with until she graduated in eight months time. Link had expressed his eagerness in continuing the tradition through school in that, since his mother died, he didn't have much normalcy to hinge on outside the show; the small dinners every week were a nice change from his eating alone at home. And Tracy and Seaweed, well, for them it was just another opportunity for socializing and music.

The meal went on, a delicate cocktail of separate conversations and a concoction of the perfectly contorted family portrait. For half an hour they ate, lingering over their food to talk, sharing laughter and retelling horror stories that were the buds of seasonal jokes, ones to be copied continuously. They talked of school, of the show, of their excitement to be graduating as well as the paralleled fear of flying the coop. Of the four, Penny was the only anxious one, for good reason.

"I am so not looking forward to that History test Ms. Whimsy is giving on Monday." Tracy groaned immaculately.

"I can tutor you." Link offered, refolding his napkin in his lap. It'd been a pleasant surprise to find that behind those eyes as deep as the ocean blue, he was quite intelligent, possibly one of the most in the school. Who knew?

Inez huffed a laugh. "Yeah, that'll work."

"I'd love that." Tracy acceded, watching Inez.

Seaweed glanced over his shoulder at the back of the record shop, disguising the check as an overly-theatrically yawn. "Give it up." Penny advised. Caught red-handed. She laid a hand on his arm. He entwined their hands and brought it to his lips, kissing it as softly as a snowflake.

"What's going on?" Tracy inquired, twirling noodles on her fork.

"Mama has a date and Seaweed's losing it." Inez answered, smiling smugly as if she knew more secret details that the others didn't.

Tracy oohed. "With who?" Link added.

"She won't tell me. Inez knows, but do I know? No." Seaweed grumbled, stabbing his salad.

Penny rolled her eyes. As much as she loved him, he worried too much. "She doesn't have to tell you."

"I'm her son, yeah-huh."

"Anyway," Tracy drawled.

There was a short pause at the table, only the sound of the record player and clinking utensils filling the comfortable void. Seaweed nudged Penny, who, startled, dropped her fork, the loud clanking making everyone look at her. She blushed in embarrassment, muttering an apology, and everyone turned back to their meal.

She arched an eyebrow at Seaweed, annoyance mitigating to confusion as he gestured heavily towards Link, who was in the midst of whispering something in Tracy's ear. Something funny by the way she giddily ruptured like a dame.

"Hey Link." Penny called, staring at her nimble fingers swirling her fork in her fingers.

"Hmm?" Link hummed, stealing a smitten glance at Tracy out of the corner of his eye when she nudged him. She hid her face sheepishly, chin depleted in her palm. Her eyes flickered up to him. They traded a smile.

"Who were the men you were talking to after the show?" He blanched.

"What?" Tracy jolted, suddenly alarmed by the unknown question. What was Penny talking about, men after the show? She looked to Link for any hint of recognition, as if he knew what she was talking about, but he pretended to be more interested in shoving all his leftover noodles to one side of the bowl. "When was this?"

"After the show Corny had him talk to two guys. No one knew who they were. People were taking bets." Seaweed explained calmly, serving himself another garlic roll. "I think you were in the bathroom."

Another pause, longer, agonizing as they waited on Link expectantly. The boy in the spotlight just looked down at his plate, fidgeting with anything tangible before tucking his hands under the table. Tracy, noticing his uneasiness, reached over and took his hand. He took a sip of water instead of looking at her. How out of character.

"Link?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "It wasn't anything. They just wanted to meet me. It was kind of weird actually. They didn't even introduce themselves." He swallowed.

Seaweed, mouth open a jar, rolled his tongue to the back of his mouth and uttered a, "Huh."

"Wouldn't it be so far out if they were agents?" Penny chirped, clapping excitedly.

Link chuckled breathlessly. "Yeah, wouldn't that be something." He took another sip of water, set it down, then took another swig, as if nervous. Tracy eyed him suspiciously. _Okay, _she mumbled. "Can we talk about something else?"

He sat back in his chair, shoulders dropping, as if defeated by the topic, hands wringing around the glass. He didn't say another word, but let his circle of friend's sprout a new conversation about Homecoming plans, only half-listening. Tracy tried to pay attention, kept her eyes on Penny who took it upon herself to joyfully describe a dress she had discovered recently, except she was thinking about Link, about his behavior modification. It was as if the simple question had been the big red button that evacuated the real Link and sent in a robot of monotone dismissal.

Under the table his hand was strong in hers, as if giving her some reason to cling to, that he wasn't completely checked out from the table, just momentarily dazed by something bothering. She wanted to lean over and whisper to him, wanted to know why he'd suddenly changed, but her chance was blistered when he swung back into the ring, cranking into the static.

He released her hand and folded his arms over the table, hunched forward, a smile she all too well recognized from years of studying his image on the screen. His stage smile, a master at disguising the inner-demons and radiating this boy-next-door façade.

Licking her lips, she decided to drop the concerns, taking the time to schedule a shopping day with Penny to find the perfect dress. After all, the dress was the most important ingredient to the cake. And just like that everything prior to that moment was forgotten, clouded over by the impending celebration.

"Inez, have you seen my…" The voice of Motormouth Maybelle Stubbs trailed off into the distance as she sauntered into the dining room, hurried stride slowing. "My, y'all got quiet."

Each laughed politely. "Sorry, Mama." Inez said, gazing adoringly up at her mother. "What were you looking for?"

Maybelle cast a suspicious inspection down at her son, whose arms were crossed, eyes narrowed up at her. If there was ever a grown boy that still threw a tantrum… "Grandmama's gold necklace. Have you seen it?"

"It's in my room, on the dresser."

"Thank you. Seaweed, sweetheart, you might as well give up."

Penny laughed, hand clamped over her mouth. A wave of shock lapped over Seaweed, as if surprised that he'd been caught and called on. "Why won't you just tell me the cat's name? I'm the son here. I need a name in case I have to file a missing persons report."

Maybelle stroked his head affectionately. "You worry too much." He huffed. "Now tell you Mama she looks nice."

Seaweed looked her up and down, taking in her cerulean dress and beehive 'do. "You're missing shoes." he finally informed her, eyes dragged down to her spartan feet.

"You look beautiful, Ms. Maybelle." Link complimented, draping his arm over Tracy's chair.

Maybelle beamed. "Why thank you, sweetheart. What are y'all doing tonight?"

Penny shrugged. "Don't know. A movie maybe."

Tracy bit her lip. Right, she forgot to tell them. She kept doing that. "I can't." she confessed lowly. Link looked at her. "I'm baby-sitting tonight."

"You are?" He sounded hurtfully confused. Why hadn't she told him?

"Yes. I completely forgot to tell you, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He smiled.

"It sucks. I really wanted to spend time with you tonight and I didn't even remember until Ma told me this morning. And that's why she called, to remind me. I really don't want to go, but…I sort of promised."

Link blinked at her, taken back by her rapid rambling done in one breath. "You ramble a lot." he stated dumbly. Tracy rolled her eyes, contradicting her amused smile. "Trace, it's not the end of the world if we can't go out tonight. Hang loose."

That said, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, not that she minded as she cuddled against his side. In the distance, Penny and Inez awed. "I was just looking forward to spending some time with you, since we really haven't gotten to lately. With our schedules and new classes, I mean."

He kissed her head, abashed. "I adore you, you know that."

"I know." Cupping her cheek, he gave her a sweet peck on the lips, pressing his forehead to hers.

"What time do I have to have you home?"

Tracy hesitated in answering, a brief wince lighting her features. She hated the answer she had to give him. He come to the same realization that dawned on her. "Six-thirty."

It took him a beat and a half to respond, as she expected. That wasn't long, a mere twenty minutes, and neither one of them were prepared to split when they crossed the finish line. "Can't you stay longer?"

She shook her head. The truth pained her. "I wish I could, but I have to go take care of Isabelle."

Link drew back. "Isabelle Morgan? She's the doctor's daughter, right?"

"Jeez, you two!" Penny whined. "It's not Armageddon."

Tracy giggled at her friend. No matter the situation, she somehow always managed to be comic relief, accolade for whatever she said. The newfound talent was worshipped, Seaweed the genie that granted her the wishes. She begrudgingly pried herself away from Link, disentangling themselves at the expense of their audience, and mockingly threatened to throw her roll across the table.

"I say we just hang out here." Seaweed offered, lacing his fingers together like the godfather of the table.

"You just want to find out who Mama's going out with." Inez remarked.

"I just don't get why no one will tell me!"

"Seaweed." Tracy shook her head sarcastically. Her mouth opened to say something else, but a flash of arm silenced any previous sentence and resurrected a strangled, "Hey! That's mine."

Link put up his arms defensively, bellying innocence, trying to smile despite still chewing the stolen meatball. His sauced fork buried in the noodles like a treading deposited weapon. Tracy narrowed her eyes at him. "You're such trouble."

Swallowing heavily, earnestly, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, drawing back in satisfaction. Inez snickered. On her cheek was a smear of tomato sauce, a new shade of lipstick, a mark of genius achievement. She shrieked, hastily wiping it off. "Link!"

XXXX

****

A/N: There was chapter three. I hope everyone understand the last bit; if not, just say so and I'll explain. Please review.


	5. Peyton Place after Midnight

****

Authors Note: This has been what I've been occupying my Trink/Zikki time with until Wednesday, which won't come quick enough. I've been relatively busy and it's only going to continue, but I will try my hardest to update at least once a week.

Anyway, here's the new chapter.

XXXX

Her hand was heavy on the door as she knocked, the movement absent-minded, probably a knock too short. Tracy glanced up and down the street, doing a half-circle to smile politely at an elderly couple on their evening stroll, white umbrella protectively shielding them from the blistering wind. The trees lining the avenue whistled, swaying with the inaudible music, tempting the vagabond residents.

She hugged her arms, teetering on the small porch step. It was still obviously summer, the days long and hot with the nights barely erasing that reminder, but ever so often the subtle touches of fall breezed through. Like now. Despite the early time, the sun had already sunk into the hills and the chill was sneaking in. Which was making it slightly uncomfortable to be outside in a skirt that just brushed above her knees. If she weren't careful, she'd be another Marilyn Monroe mimic.

As precaution, she knocked again, twice like the dings of a doorbell, and waited as she heard the distant clank of heels from within the brownstone. Within a second, the door opened and a rather tall woman filled the empty void, struggling to clasp her black and white patent clutch.

"Tracy," She smiled warmly. "Right on time. Come in."

Tracy swept past the woman, pausing in the foyer as she closed the door and flicked the lock. The house was silent for a brief moment except for the faint pattering heard above their heads. At barely thirty, Mimi Morgan, dressed impeccably in a cream cocktail dress with a scalloped-neckline and tucked bodice, her hand planted on the curve of her hip, was the type of her woman that certain girls strove to be. With tumbling waves as sandy-colored as the morning sun and pouting lips painted red, she was the kind of woman who was popular in high school and society not because she tried to be, but because she just _was_.

Not to mention she was now sporting the eccentric 'bob,' a daring move in style that got noticed immediately by the ladies lunching.

Mimi depleted the clutch on the table next to the front door, a crass comparison to the vase of vibrant tulips. "I'm go glad that you agreed to baby-sit tonight. George is already stressing over this banquet tonight. The last thing he needed to worry about was who was watching over Isabelle."

"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Morgan."

Both turned at the sound of heavy footsteps descending down the stairs. George Morgan, tugging at the cufflinks of his rather expensive-looking suit, jogged up to them, head bowed to his chest. "Mimi—Oh, hello, Tracy. I didn't even know that you'd arrived." he bid, seeing her for the first time.

Tracy smiled at the man, whom she'd known since she was seven. Except then he had been a high schooler on a rebellious streak. All the same, he hadn't changed much in appearance, with his crew cut hair down to a velvet touch and towering frame that, oddly enough, only matched his wife in heels.

"Are you going to win an award tonight, Mr. Morgan?" she teased.

George rolled his eyes, taking her teasing in stride. "If I was an architectural engineer, maybe. I don't even see why I'm going."

"George." Mimi scolded.

"What? I'm a structural engineer. I have no chance." He passed a look at Tracy, who was with holding her own smile. The light banter was endearing, especially amongst a pair that'd been together for over a decade.

"So, Tracy,"—Mimi widened her eyes momentarily as she repeated her name, clearly derailing to a new, more important topic—"Again, thank you again for baby-sitting tonight. Isabelle was so excited when she found out you volunteered. She's been dancing up a storm ever since."

"She's going to hurt herself." George chided before crossing the room to fetch his and Mimi's coats.

"It's just dancing, George. She likes it. We should be home no later then ten, but Isabelle should be bathed and in bed by nine, understand?"

Tracy nodded. No sake in arguing with a mother, whether she'd been in the house and on the same schedule before or not. "Does she have any school assignments or things she needs to do before bed?"

"She doesn't have any school work, but George and I make her read to us every night."

"All right. Has she eaten anything?"

George jumped in before Mimi, holding out her coat, "No, but she did mention pancakes earlier."

"I think I can manage that."

A curling shriek pierced the home at that second, followed by the sound of bare feet scampering through the hall, louder and louder as they neared. Tracy whirled around, the widest smile splitting her features, and saw six-year old Isabelle running towards her, a long French braid swinging behind her. With an anxious squeak from her own throat, she knelt down just in time to catch the girl in her arms, hugging her close like her own child, then stood.

"Tracy." Isabelle said, a toothless smile peaking out at her.

"Hi Isabelle. You lost your baby-teeth." Tracy said, bouncing her on her hip to get a better grip.

Isabelle nodded in absurd satisfaction. "I got twenty-cents last night for this one." She stuck her index finger in the wide middle gap on the top.

Tracy couldn't help but smile. She loved this little girl. They're were so many things she identified, so many traits of herself that she recognized. It was more or less impossible not to compare the two. The girl was so bright and filled with rays of sunshine, always smiling and hiccuping a giggle. From the moment the two had met, Tracy had practically become a surrogate sister, passing down her virtuoso and sagaciousness. Besides, who could say no to those adorable rosy cheeks?

Mimi cleared her throat, adjusting her coat for the second time. "Tracy. Please, no boys." Tracy winced; she knew that subject was going to come about at some point. Before it had never been an issue, but, things change. "I understand you're dating that sweet and handsome Link Larkin, but I prefer he not come over."

She shook her head instantly, hinting at a smile. "Of course. We already discussed it."

It wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth. She'd refused to give the address of the Morgan's to Link as he'd driven her home, despite his tenacious pestering and tickle-tactics, but she hadn't officially banned him. She assumed he had more common sense than that. Or, she hoped.

Isabelle's smile fell. "Link's not coming?" she asked with large eyes.

And the popularity continued. It was one thing when Link's appeal, physical or other, got him noticed amongst girls their own age, but another when he dribbled down to the first grade…or lower. Only he could prove such a feat wasn't unattainable.

"No, sorry, sweetie. Mommy wouldn't like that." she said, bottom lip plumping out. Isabelle laid her head on her shoulder.

"Mimi, we need to go." George reminded from the door, purposely glancing at his watch buried under his shirt.

Mimi glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded. "Okay, sweetheart. Be good for Tracy. And go to sleep." She planted a quick kiss on her daughter's cheek, running a lingering hand over her head.

"Bye Mommy. Bye Daddy." Isabelle sang, sending a twinkle wave off to her departing parents.

A gust of wind floated through the door as George opened it for his wife, resting a loving hand on her shoulder as she passed, the woman refusing to send a second look at her daughter. She was a mother, one that was just getting used to the fact that her offspring had to venture into the world without her. A painful process, but only the beginning. George, lenient towards that transition, blew a kiss at the pair, waving goodbye before the door closed behind him.

The tips of their shadows danced on the engraved window at the top of the door for an extra minute, loitering as the lock slung forth for the final time, then they were gone, the only sound of their presence being the rich ring of their voices.

Tracy shuffled her feet after a second, readjusting Isabelle for the third time, looping her arms securely under the girl. She looked at the perky girl in her arms, traces of her bubble temporarily vanished.

"What do you want to do first?" A small smile crept on Isabelle's face.

XXXX

"Come here, come here." Tracy chanted, arms offered out to take hold of the hyperactive midget. "This is how you do it."

The Mashed Potato was the only dance Isabelle had yet to master. She practiced and practiced, mimicking the complex footwork on the screen, but she wanted it to be perfect. Harder to do, nonetheless. Hence, who better to learn from than the girl that had twisted her way onto the most popular show on Baltimore television? She watched her mentor with undistracted attention, concentrated hazel eyes flickering from Tracy's leg movements to her arms. Her arms and legs moved in unison, flinging out with each propel.

"You try." she instructed after demonstrating twice, beginning to sprout a feeling of awkwardness in the center of the living room with only the faint hum of music to dance to.

Isabelle attempted the dance, but found that it was easier to watch than to do. Much like life. Her leg moved out with ease, but her arms weren't connected the rest of her body. When her arms went out, her leg found its way back to the center, or vice versa.

After her third try, her bottom lip flipped out. Tracy instantly wound her arm around her shoulder, squeezing her tightly. "You'll get it."

"Can you teach me that one dance you do on the show?"

"Which one?" There _were_ a lot.

"The one you always do with Seaweed."

Tracy's eyebrows shot up in dimmed surprise. She thought she'd been a fan; this girl definitely watched the show ritually. She stumbled over a response. "I think you're a little too young to learn the Peyton Place after Midnight."

"But I'm six, not four." Isabelle protested, face fused, arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

"Exactly." Tracy patted her shoulder. "Maybe when you're my age."

Her lips crinkled. "But you're old."

"Thank you." Tracy scoffed. "I feel loved."

Isabelle shrugged, turning her head away. "I bet Link would teach me."

"I bet he would, but he's not here." She paused. What was with the sudden fascination with Link? Granted he was _Link Larkin, _but come on. Really. "How about those pancakes? You hungry?" Isabelle shrugged again. "Go find you mother's recipe book."

Leaving a heavy sigh in her wake, the girl skipped out of the room, prancing around the corner into the kitchen with a high step. Tracy could hear her humming, an older song she must've heard from her father's accustomed rants. She shook her head, hands on her hips. The older the girl got, the more of a handful she became. She figured that was children. _My kids won't be like—_

The doorbell suddenly rang, snapping her from finishing the sentence. She glanced from the door to the hall then back again, slipping away to answer the visitor. It was Thursday night. She wasn't expecting anyone, and the Morgan's never mentioned anyone. Oh no. She hoped it wasn't someone trying to sell anything.

She unlocked the door, prepared to send whomever it was off, but the words instantly left her mouth once she caught sight of who was standing purposely coolly on the porch. Then she started laughing. Link straightened immediately, hand falling from the doorframe, uncrossing his legs. Why was his girlfriend laughing at him? He looked down at himself. Did he look bad or something?

"What's so funny?" he asked.

Tracy waved at him, shaking her head, unable to even get a functional word out. Hand now on her stomach, she pulled a straight face, forcing herself not to smile, breathing deeply. She clenched her lips together as the unrestrained urge to smile shattered the gate. "Link. What are you doing here?"

"My question first. Why are you laughing at me?"

Tracy tilted her head to the side. "I'm not laughing at you. Isabelle and I were just talking about you, is all."

Link pursed his lips, drawling a shallow, "Oh."

She crossed her arms over her shoulder. "Now what are you doing here?"

He merely beamed, adding a kiss on her cheek as he eased into the home. "I miss you?"

Tracy rolled her eyes. If he thought his Larkin charm was going to work with her, especially after nearly four months of dating, he had another thing coming. God, she hoped Isabelle didn't walk out and find him there. She would never let him leave. And she would be stuck baby-sitting both of them. Great.

"You can't be here. You're not supposed to be here."

Link sauntered into the home, shutting the door softly behind him, lowering his voice as he spoke to her. "Come on, Trace. The best part about this gig is having the boyfriend come over."

"Really? I thought it was raiding the fridge." she argued. "If the Morgan's knew you were here…"

He snaked his arms around her suggestively, pulling her close to him. Close enough for her to forget why she was fighting him. The fact that his lips were dangerously close to hers didn't help either. He knew exactly what to do, didn't he? "I won't tell if you don't tell. It can be our dirty little secret."

Tracy eyed him. She pushed against him, hands pillared on his chest. Space was good. "Nice try, Link, but—"

A small gasp, one that shouldn't have been audible over their tangible discussion, ended the exchange abruptly. Link's eyes left Tracy's, venturing behind her, and landed on the small blonde girl hugging a stuffed horse to her chest. Her eyes were wide in awe, lips parted. A smile crept onto Link's lips.

He brushed past Tracy, despite her muffled oppositions, and crossed the room to kneel in front of Isabelle. "How you doin, sweetheart? I hear your name's Isabelle."

Tracy rolled her eyes. Isabelle smiled profusely. "Yes, sir, but my mommy calls me Is."

"That sounds like a princess name." He grinned. "Well, Princess Is, call me Link."

"Tracy said you weren't coming."

"Really?" He glanced over his shoulder. No demur. "Between you and me, I never pass up a chance to be with two lovely ladies. May I stay?"

Isabelle couldn't have nodded fast enough. He flashed the Link Wink; she giggled, cheeks reddening. "You aren't staying." Tracy stated firmly.

Link stood, moving to stand beside Isabelle. He took her hand. "Come on, Trace. Just for a little while. It's seven-thirty. The night is young."

Isabelle didn't wait for Tracy to pitch in a response. Though she was the youngest, she was more likely to be listened to. She gazed up at Link, tugging on his hand. "Link, we're making pancakes. Do you like pancakes?" she spurted.

"Of course, little darlin'." The pair headed for the kitchen, Isabelle leading the way excitedly. "And peanut butter. Have you ever tried peanut butter on pancakes? That's good."

"Ew!" Isabelle shrieked, cringing.

Tracy watched them leave, watched as they disappeared. Her arms fell to her side, resigned. She couldn't do anything right now, but it was going to be a _long_ night. God help her.

XXXX


End file.
